


Comfort Dreams

by Kanra_chan



Category: The Goldbergs (TV), The Middle (TV)
Genre: AU, Affairs, Angst, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Mother's Day, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanra_chan/pseuds/Kanra_chan
Summary: Mike has been distant lately.





	Comfort Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!! I wrote this because... well, honestly, I just wanted to annoy my wonderful mother by writing her a lesbian crossover starring characters from some of her favorite shows. Nonetheless, enjoy?? I wrote this at like 3am so there are probably mistakes, sorry

Mike has been distant lately.

Frankie knows it isn’t just in her head this time, either. Everytime she brings it up, asks where he’s going so late at night or flinches when he snatches his phone out of her sight, he blows up at her. Loud, angry, towering over her, shouting, “Enough, Frankie! There’s nothing going on, so just drop it!”

The worst part is that he won’t meet her eyes. It was a vital part of their connection, their shared ability to look into each other's eyes and know what was up. The kids wouldn’t listen to her? A stern glance at Mike, and he’d know to step in and help her. His father was being a pain? She knew from his quick, pleading glance to soothe the situation with a kind tone of voice and gentle words like emotional duct-tape.

It was their thing, their main base of communication. Now she didn’t know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, and it scared her.

Maybe that’s why the dreams started.

Truthfully, she loved them. She’d rush home just to go to bed, where she’d dream of warm smiles and a soft, curvy body.Not to say her dreams were strictly sexual, though. On the contrary, the one she dreamed of listened to her. They gave thoughtful replies, gentle advise, and solid comfort. And, sometimes, orgasms.

The fact that she dreamed of a woman only made things all the more exciting.

Her name was Beverly Goldberg. She was a cheerful woman around Frankies age, who had lovely blonde curls like early morning rays of sunshine and striking green eyes, bright and youthful. Best of all, this woman understood her. She related to her in a way no one else ever really had. Truthfully, she felt closer to her imaginary lover than she ever had to her own husband.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry so much about the whooping…” Beverly remarks, thoughtfully. “My adam is 12 and he still plays with toys. But of course that’s adorable,” she laughs, and Frankie smiles with her.

“I guess I just worry about the other kids picking on him..” She sighs, and Beverly frowns, shifting on the bed to pull her legs underneath her.

“Yes… Oh it’s just so awful!” She huffs, reclining further against their shared hotel bed. “How could anyone pick on my cute little shmoopy? Or your Brick, who sounds lovely by the way.” She smiles to herself, briefly wishing she could meet the unfamous Adam Goldberg. Glancing around the hotel room, more out of habit than anything, she notes that once again there is no door to exit. Not that she wants to leave.

Over the last two months, every time she’s gone to bed she’s found herself here, in a tacky little hotel room. Never anywhere else. Whatever the reason for this, she couldn’t seem to theorize just why, exactly, their room always had such a garish 80’s look. Trying to have sex on a waterbed was challenging, at times.

“Frankie, dear, are you listening?” Beverly asks suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. How, she wonders, would Beverly react if Frankie told her she wasn’t real, that she was just a fantasy? Would she freak out? Would she accept it, agree, be self aware? Would she disappear?

In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

“Oh, haha,” she doesn’t meet her eyes as she speaks, “Yes. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” A lie, and an obvious one at that, but Frankie has never been very good at that.

“...I can tell you’re lying, but,” Beverly rolls up the sleeve of her creative sweater, checking her watch, “Unfortunately we’re out of time…” They both have them, pure white watches counting down their time together. They have exactly three hours together, but it always seems to pass so fast.

“Already? But we didn’t get to do anything fun…” She pouts playfully, trying to mask just how disappointed she really is.

“Next time,” Beverly purrs, leaning over to peck her on the lips. She, and the hotel room, begin to fade from view, the crusty old ceiling of her bedroom replacing them. She blinks blearily, heart sinking further when she notices that Mike isn’t in the bed. Ah, joy, time to start another day in hell.

At least she had next time to look forward to.

* * *

 

 Mike is pulling on his boots, crouched by the front door, when he finally seems to notice that something is off. He looks up, his frown deep and the lines of his forehead more pronounced than usual. He looks just as tired and stressed as she feels, though his clean and tidy appearance would suggest otherwise. He’s in a nice shirt-a new shirt. Probably bought to impress his mistress.

Frankie wishes she didn’t care so much.

“You, uh, you okay there Frankie?” He eyes her gruffly, already in her pajamas even though the sun has barely even set. “It’s awfully early to be going to bed.” True, but why should she wait? The kids are in their rooms, there are no new episodes of her favorite shows on tonight, and she’s been thinking of Beverly all day.

“Oh, I think I’m coming down with something.” She waves a dismissive hand, bitter and tired and longing for Beverly to hold her. “Don’t worry about me, Mike, go out and… do whatever it was you claimed you were going to do,” she huffs.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face and looking at her like she’s the one cause problems. Then, his face changes, switching from annoyed to guilty. Whatever, let him feel guilty. He deserves it, for leaving her all alone like he did. Sighing, he straightens up and faces her, eyes sad.

“Frankie… Look. We’ve been growing apart for a long time,” he starts, stiff and uncomfortable. Oh, God! Here it comes. “And I… I think that maybe we should-”

“Save it.” She’s already crying, biting her lip and trying desperately to swallow the growing ache in her throat. “I don’t….! I don’t want to talk about this.”

“We have to, Frankie-”

 _“No,”_ she hisses, cutting him off. She turns, ignoring his protests and rushing towards their bedroom. She doesn’t slam the door when she gets there- Sue would just barge in to check on her, and that’s the last thing she needs. She loves that girl, but right now she just needs Beverly.

She flops down on the bed, smiling when the motion makes her dizzy. Looks like those sleeping pills were finally kicking in! Finally. And it seems that she’s thankfully already starting to crash crazy hard.

Distantly, she hears the car rev to life, noting dully that Mike has dropped their impending divorce topic and moved on to seek comfort in his mistress. It’s sort of funny that she’s doing the exact same thing, in a way. Although, hers was probably born from some undiagnosed mental illness, rather than being an actual, living person…

She closes her eyes, letting herself drift off without even bothering to turn off the lights. She floats pleasantly in blissful unawareness for awhile, letting her worries and hardships float away in the sea of her unconsciousness. After awhile, she feels the tightening of the watch around her right wrist, and knows it’s time.

“Hi, Frankie…” It’s Beverly. Frankie opens her eyes, and finds herself once again laying on her side in their peaceful little hotel room. Beverly is smiling, not unusual, but a closer look tells her something is wrong. The other woman’s face is tense, looking anxious and almost pained.

“Bev… What’s wrong?” She’s sure her expression must mirror Beverly’s, brows creased and face pinched with anxiety, a mixture of concern for Beverly and her own worries.

“I… I have something to confess,” Beverly starts, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve been keeping something to myself for a long time and- oh, I don’t know why I’m even telling you, ut I just… I can’t keep it inside any longer.” Worried green eyes find hers, wide and scared, and Frankie tries her best to send a comforting smile back.

“It’s okay,” Frankie reassures her. She reaches out to grasp her lovers hand, so much softer and warmer than mikes. “Really. You can tell me anything.” Because what kind of secret could an imaginary friend really have?

“...You...you’re not real.” Beverly’s face is deadly serious, no hint of amusement or foolery to be found in her expresion. She’s not kidding around.

“E-excuse me?” Frankie laughs, nervously. “What do you mean I’m not…” she trails off uncomfortably.

“Frankie… every night, when I go to sleep, we meet. You’re not real. You’re just… a dream.” Beverly’s eyes water, bringing her hand up to wipe her tears with the sleeve of another (hideous) handmade sweater. “I’m sorry…”

Oh. That kind of secret.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments fuel me


End file.
